


Again and Again

by mirlotta



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff and Angst, In honour of the new season, M/M, New Year's Eve Time Loop AU, Time Loop, everything is canon universe except the time loop part, iwaoi - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-08-28 00:32:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8423782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirlotta/pseuds/mirlotta
Summary: Hajime doesn't know how or why, but he's repeating the same damn day over and over. He's supposed to find his true love in order to break the loop- but it's New Year's Eve, and who knows how many people there are at this party? At this rate, he'll never see 2017.





	1. Chapter 1

Hajime wakes up to the afternoon sun bleeding in through his curtains, staining his room the same colour orange that flecks Oikawa Tooru’s eyes. It would, perhaps, be beautiful- that is, if Oikawa didn’t spend half his time being an annoying piece of crap. Also, if the sun wasn’t just an unwanted reminder that Hajime has overslept _again_ , and Makki is going to kill him if he’s late to Mattsun’s New Year’s Eve party for the fourth year in a row.

Grunting, Hajime rolls onto his side and almost gets a paper cut in the eye. There’s a note propped up on this half of his pillow- typed in unfeeling black ink on glossy, expensive looking paper. Hajime yawns and turns it over to read, blinking away the last lingering residues of sleep.

The note is short: only four words long.

_Find your true love._

_Ugh._ Hajime pulls a face that’s the same colour as the word ‘disgust’, tossing the note into his trash without looking. It misses – he’s not like that dumbass Hinata Shoyo, of course he’s got to look where he’s spiking – but he doesn’t bother picking it up from the floor.

His parents have been pestering him to get a girlfriend for months now, and Hajime guesses that this note is just the next level of their badgering him. He better not start getting a message like this every day. Soon, he imagines, his parents will be standing outside the house with neon signs, advertising to all the local girls like ‘ _Feel like a relationship with an overly violent arm-wrestling champion who’ll probably love volleyball ten times more than you?’_ Yep, Hajime can just picture the queues of admirers.

Not.

He’s only even been confessed to twice, and he’s pretty sure one of those was a dare. The other girl, Hajime brought to tears.

Hajime wishes briefly that he was more like Oikawa, who turns down multiple confessions every day with just the right amount of regret. Then he snaps to his senses and forgets all about it- because Oikawa really is a self-absorbed shit, and who’d want to be like that?

He wonders, sometimes, why the two of them are friends. Hajime supposes it’s because they’ve been together for so long, they couldn’t imagine anything different.

“Hajime?” shouts his mother’s voice from downstairs, an interjection into his morning thoughts. “Are you up?”

“Yes,” lies Hajime, hurriedly throwing back his bed covers. He stomps into the bathroom and frantically scrubs the exhaustion from his face. “I’ll be down in… Just a minute…”

“Good,” says his mother. “Oikawa’s at the door for you.” She pauses, and Hajime can almost hear the words she’ll say next, because she says them _every goddamn year_. “You’re not taking any girls with you this year, are you Hajime?” She’s trying to sound casual, but Hajime can hear the hope in her voice.

“No,” Hajime shouts to her, without emotion. Flattening her dreams with one word, just as well as if he’d sat on them. “I’m not taking any girls, mum.”

 _God_. First the note, now this. He’s had enough with pestering about his love-life for a year.

The doorbell rings three times in quick succession- Oikawa. He’s earlier than they arranged, and Hajime figures that he’s probably always so punctual on purpose. Just to wind Hajime up, who’s always late.

“Hajime?” calls his mother again, and he sprints down the stairs to the door. Oikawa has moved on to pressing the doorbell to the time of the chant that their school shouts at volleyball matches.  _Ike, ike ike ike ike Seijoh!_

Flinging open the door, Hajime glares at Oikawa. “Shut up already, Shittykawa!”

For several long seconds, Oikawa doesn’t say anything- just stares at Hajime in apparent shock. Then, slowly, his face breaks into a laugh, his nose crinkling.

“What?” asks Hajime, suddenly confused. “What?”

“Wow, Iwa-chan, I know you’re pleased to see me but you could at least be decent and some proper clothes on!”

“Wha-” starts Hajime, and then his ‘what’ ends up sounding more like ‘shit’. All the stuff with the note distracted him, so he hasn’t had time to get changed. Which means that he’s still wearing what he woke up in.

And all that he woke up in was his underwear and one lone sock.

“Nice boxers, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa is teasing. “Do you know where I can buy them? Did you get them from the charity shop on the main street, or the-” He breaks off as Hajime hits him in the arm. “ _Ow_ , Iwa-chan, don’t be mean!”

“Shut up, Asskawa. It’s not my fault you’re so early.”

Oikawa winks, sticking out his tongue. Hajime _knew_ he’d arrived so quickly on purpose, just to rush him.

“So,” says Oikawa, already ducking under Hajime’s arm to waltz into the house, “are you actually going to invite me in while you get changed, like a gentleman? Unless, of course, you plan on going to the party like that.” He looks at Hajime’s single sock pointedly.

“No point inviting you if you’re already in my house,” growls Hajime, but by this time, Oikawa’s wandered through to the main room to talk to his parents. He can hear snippets of a story already started about the time they got really drunk together and Hajime proposed to a volleyball.

Hajime resists the urge to punch something, and heads upstairs to get changed.

\--

It’s a short walk to Mattsun’s house, but Oikawa’s trying his best to make it last as long as possible. Hajime reckons there have been at least seventeen references to his underwear so far, and that’s only since he started counting.

“Makki told me that you were the type to wear briefs to bed, Iwa-chan, but now I see-”

Hajime rolls his eyes. Make that eighteen references. He does his best to glare at Oikawa, but he thinks the red tinged embarrassment on his cheeks is giving him away.

“Yes, boxers are far more your style,” continues Oikawa obliviously, tossing his rich dark hair. “I think Mattsun had maybe bet you wore a corset, but of course I told him that you’d never be able to wear one with your figure, and-”

Hajime interrupts him, certain that he’s roughly the same colour as a beetroot. Shifting awkwardly, he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans and angles his face away so that Oikawa can’t see. “What are you, twelve?”

“Yes, Iwa-chan, on a scale from one to te-”

Hajime thumps Oikawa on the shoulder. The taller boy squeals, like he always does, but at least the underwear jokes stop. After a while, Oikawa gets distracted by Ushijima Wakatoshi, the Shiratorizawa ace that seems to be stalking them to the party. Hajime has to admit, the guy’s always seemed slightly obsessed with Oikawa, but this is a new level of weird.

Every couple of metres they’ll hear a rustle behind them, and when they look around they see Ushijima peeking out from behind someone’s dustbin.

“He’s probably going to try and crash the party,” says Oikawa conversationally. “Maybe he’s going to confess to me.”

“You already get way more confessions then your over-sized ego can handle,” mutters Hajime.

Oikawa laughs. “What, would you rather that he confessed to you, Iwa-chan? I’m not sure Ushiwaka-chan’s what your mother had in mind when she told me to find you a love-life.”

“She told you to find me a-?!” Hajime breaks off, shaking his head. _Of course she did_. His parents seem to like nothing more than meddling in his personal affairs. He sighs, tugging at his shirt collar self-consciously. “I don’t need a love-life.”

“Of course you don’t,” agrees Oikawa, smirking. “You have me.”

Hajime doesn’t know why, but when Oikawa smiles at him like that – hair in his eyes, head tilted back into the sun - it feels like the whole universe is on fire. That, and Hajime’s face feels like it’s so hot that it’s going to explode. _Damn._

He’s got to get a handle on his blush.

\--

Makki’s standing outside Mattsun’s house when they arrive, waving unenthusiastically. “You guys are late- the party’s already started. You were supposed to come and help set up, remember?”

Oikawa steps on Hajime’s toe, pouting. “It’s not my fault that Iwa-chan tried to leave the house without any clothes on.”

Makki pretends to gag. “Okay, too much information already.” He looks at Hajime with folded arms, his lip quirking. “Was that another one of your mother’s attempts to get you a girlfriend? Because, seriously, the second anyone even _imagines_ you naked, they’re going to run screaming from the room.”

Hajime scowls. “I wasn’t naked.”

“Oh, yes!” Oikawa turns to Makki. “He was wearing one sock.”

“I was wearing underwear as well!”

Oikawa looks at Hajime, and his eyes are laughing. “Calm down, Iwa-chan. It’s not at all becoming to shout for no reason.”

Hajime grits his teeth. “I’m shouting because you’re trying to tell Makki I was naked!”

None of them noticed Mattsun appear at the door, but now he smirks in amusement. “What’s this about Iwaizumi being naked?”

Makki shakes his head darkly. “Not _naked_ , Mattsun,” he says, and for a second Hajime is so relieved that he contemplates letting Makki win in the inevitable arm-wrestling battle they’ll be having later. Then, Makki laughs, and Hajime throws good intention out the window. “He was wearing one sock.”

Hajime wonders whether he’s been cursed, or if everyone’s friendships are like this. Either way, he makes a vow to completely annihilate Makki in arm-wrestling.

Oikawa hums as he links his arm through Hajime’s, and the four of them walk inside. 

The party is living, breathing, like the end of the world is coming and the people know that they’ve only got this one day left to dance.  There’s a smell of perfume and sweat that clings to the skin like a lover, and someone’s borrowed a disco ball from God knows where. It spins, suspended from the ceiling- throwing light onto kisses and laughter and drinking like the ever-stretching arms of the cosmos.

Outside, the sun is only just beginning to set, but the dimmed room makes Hajime feel as if it’s going on midnight. He’s almost forgotten what the day looks like- but then he glances at Oikawa, and the bright pearly white of his smile seems just as brilliant.

Not that Hajime thinks that Oikawa is brilliant, or anything. Nah. The guy just has really good teeth, that’s all.

Makki taps Hajime on the shoulder, nodding at a nearby table. “I think this is the time I finally beat you at arm wrestling, right?”

Hajime snorts. “As if.” He’s the undefeated reigning champion. He knows the technique – he’s perfected it, over the years, until he’s got it just right. Makki never stands a chance, no matter how much he wants to win.

They sit down opposite one another and are just about to begin when Oikawa pulls at Hajime’s arm. “I bet _I_ could beat you, Iwa-chan.” Which is just ridiculous, really. Oikawa is known to be completely useless at arm wrestling- but even so.

Hajime turns to him, distracted. “In your dreams, Shittykawa.”

“We could-”

“We could _try_ , but you know that I’d beat you in seconds.”

“Hmm,” says Oikawa, tilting his head to one side. “I guess you’re right, Iwa-chan. You’d beat me at arm wrestling every time.”

“You want something, don’t you?” asks Mattsun warily. “Otherwise you’d never compliment Iwaizumi so easily.”

Makki nudges him in the ribs. “ _I_ know what Oikawa wants.”

Mattsun laughs. “He wants _Iwa-chan_.” He sings the name mockingly, only laughing more when Oikawa pulls a face at him. Hajime resists the urge to tackle Mattsun and Makki both to the floor, and sighs at Oikawa.

“Fine, then, Asskawa. What do you want?”

Makki mutters something that sounds like ‘ _other than Iwaizumi_ ’, but gets muffled halfway through by Hajime’s hand in his face.

Oikawa ignore the comment, nodding sagely. “How about a competition that we haven’t seen a billion times before. Because we all know what’s going to happen- Iwa-chan wins, Makki gets defensive, blah, blah.”

Hajime can’t deny that Oikawa’s perfectly described the pattern that their arm wrestling battles usually follow. “Okay. What kind of competition are you talking about, though?”

Oikawa grins wickedly. “How about a competition… of love?”

Love. _Love._ Again? Hajime feels like crying. No one seems to be able to talk about anything else today. Mattsun waves a hand, gesturing at Oikawa. “Explain.”

“It’s easy. The person to get the most people to fall in love with them by the end of the night wins!”

Hajime groans in irritation. “Well, that’s obviously you then, isn’t it? You’ve already got half the people here in love with you.” He shakes his head, ruffling a hand through his hair. “Sorry, I’d rather arm-wrestle.”

“But Iwa-chan!” Oikawa is adamant. “Think how proud your mother will be when you come home with a girlfriend at last!” He clutches at his heart dramatically, imitating Hajime’s mother’s voice in an unrealistically high falsetto. “My darling Iwa-chan, all grown up!”

Hajime pushes him backwards and he lands on the floor with a thump. “First of all, my mother does _not_ call me Iwa-chan, Crappykawa. That’s just you. Second of all…” He trails off, considering. His parents _would_ be pleased if he ended up in a relationship, even if it isn’t anything long-term. And it isn’t like the majority of Oikawa’s fan club is actually even at this party. Mattsun had made a policy never to invite them again, after one year when seven girls accidentally burned a hole in his garden fence by trying to spell out ‘Oikawa’ in sparklers.

Hajime squints at Oikawa suspiciously- he doesn’t want to give in too easily. “What’s the prize if I win?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Mattsun will buy all-you-can-eat ramen for all of us.”

Makki perks up, suddenly excited. “Sounds good to me.”

“I never agreed to this!” Mattsun shouts, moving forward to tackle Oikawa and almost falling over the table. Oikawa dodges easily, laughing.

“Fine, fine. _If_ you win, Iwa-chan, _I’ll_ buy the ramen.”

“For everyone?” clarifies Makki, raising an eyebrow.

Oikawa sighs huffily, like a little child. “That’s what I said, didn’t I? For everyone.” He points at Hajime, suddenly serious. “But I get a prize if I win, too.”

“What? But that’s not-”

“It’s only fair, Iwa-chan. If I win, I get to request one thing- within reason, of course. And you have to make it happen.”

“Why don’t I get to request one-”

Oikawa sniffs. “You’d just have chosen ramen anyway, right?”

And he’s right. Hajime thinks that maybe Oikawa knows him too well- he can never say no when challenged, especially when ramen’s involved. _All-you-can-eat_ ramen. And Oikawa will probably only want milk bread, anyway. Hajime furrows his brow, sighing heavily. “Fine. It’s a competition, then.”

“You’ll regret agreeing when I win!” trills Oikawa, because he knows that Hajime won’t back out now. Hajime never backs out once he’s committed- it’s what makes his team so reliant upon him.

Hajime’s lips curl into a grin. “Get ready to eat your words, Crappykawa.”

\--

Actually, three hours into the party it looks like Hajime’s the one who’ll be eating his words, watching Oikawa feast on milk bread. Roughly twenty minutes after they’d agreed on the competition, Oikawa got confessed to by two second years from their high school. Hajime, on the other hand, is still sat at the same table they made the bet at. He’s beaten thirty other boys at arm-wrestling (and counting), but no one’s told them they love him yet.

He resigns himself to buying Oikawa milk bread.

Hajime should never have agreed to the stupid competition in the first place- but there’s something about Oikawa when he wants something, like a living, electric field of energy that buzzes around him. Hajime can never bring himself to refuse when Oikawa gets like that.

Someone switches the TV on, and the New Year’s countdown begins.

Almost without meaning to, Hajime scans the room for Oikawa. There he is: in the corner, with a crowd of girls bustling around him. They’re fighting over which one of them Oikawa will kiss when the clock reaches midnight. Oikawa sees Hajime looking, salutes in his direction.

Right in Hajime’s ear, someone screeches in excitement. It’s Makki: Hajime wasn’t concentrating – or at least, not on arm wrestling - and on their seventeenth match he’s finally been beaten.

“Did you see that? Mattsun! Did you see? I defeated Iwaizumi! I-”

Makki’s voice gets lost in the countdown. Somehow everyone’s on 6 already- 6 seconds until midnight, 6 seconds until the New Year. Oikawa has his hands locked round some girl’s waist, and she’s fiddling with his hair like she can’t keep still.

2, 1. The countdown’s over.

Oikawa’s lips crash into the girl’s, and suddenly Hajime can’t see a thing. His breath tightens; the world goes black. The only thing he hears, amidst the cheering and shouting, is the _thumpthumpthump_ of his heart.

Something’s happening.


	2. Chapter 2

 

Hajime wakes up to the afternoon sun bleeding in through his curtains. It’s staining his room the same colour orange that flecks Oikawa Tooru’s eyes.

 _Crap_ , he thinks. _It’s already afternoon? That’s another day wasted, then._

He can’t remember any of what happened last night- nothing, after the New Year’s countdown. He lies still with his eyes shut, struggling for details. _God_. Hajime swears he didn’t have much to drink at all, so this doesn’t make any sense.

Why doesn’t he remember anything?

Sighing, he rolls over to reach for his phone on the floor. As he does so, a note falls from his pillow and drifts onto the carpet. It’s on the same fancy paper as it was yesterday, his name embossed on the front in the same apathetic black ink. He turns it over wearily, rolling his eyes.

_Find your true love._

It says the same stupid thing as it did yesterday.

Hajime hadn’t realised how unoriginal his parents were. He wonders if this is going to become a trend, now- he’ll wake up every morning and read the same four words like a prayer before breakfast. Maybe he’ll actually go to the trouble of getting himself a girlfriend, just to stop his parents before they start going even more overboard.

Today, he decides to spice things up a little. Instead of closing his eyes in disinterest, Hajime targets the waste-paper basket carefully, throwing the note into his trash with just the right amount of leverage. It lands perfectly, and he smiles in smug satisfaction.

The feeling doesn’t last long.

“Hajime?” his mother shouts, from downstairs. “Are you up?”

 _Not again_. Hajime still hasn’t even put his clothes on, but at least he doesn’t have anywhere to be today. As he dresses – pulling on some ragged old t-shirt and his most comfortable jeans – something itches at the back of his mind. He feels like something really, really bad must have happened yesterday- it’s always like this, when he can’t remember stuff.

Hajime better not have proposed to a volleyball again, or he’ll never live it down.

“Hajime?” calls his mother, again. “Answer me! Oikawa’s at the door for you.” She pauses, deliberating. “You’re not taking any girls with you, are you?”

Hajime frowns. _Taking any girls with me where?_

As it exists solely as a distraction, the doorbell rings. Then rings again. And again. It sounds like Oikawa’s trying to imitate the chant their supporters sing at Aoba Joshai matches- and it would be annoying, if Hajime wasn’t so busy trying to figure out why the hell Oikawa is at his door in the first place.

It’s as he’s running down the stairs to open the door that Hajime remembers the bet that they made yesterday. Oikawa had definitely won- but perhaps Hajime had been too out of it by the end of the party to actually grant Oikawa’s request. He fumbles in his pocket, wondering where he’s left his wallet.

Oikawa always asks for the most expensive milk bread, and Hajime has been saving up for new volleyball kit for _months_ now.

Ruffling a hand through his hair, Hajime throws open the door. “Oikawa.” He pauses, frowning. “Remind me why you’re here, again?”

Oikawa stares at Hajime as if he’s just doused himself in gasoline. Warily, Hajime checks to make sure that this time, he’s actually wearing clothes. (He is, thank god.)

“Um,” says Hajime. “Is there something I’m forgetting? My memory of last night is really patchy, so-”

Oikawa rolls his eyes expressively. “Who cares about last night? It’s tonight you should be worrying about!” He looks at Hajime shirt pointedly- it’s ripped in more than one place, with some western band logo on its front that Hajime’s never heard of. “Led Zeppelin? Come on, Iwa-chan, you can’t even name a single song by Led Zeppelin!”

Hajime forces a smile, though he’s fighting confusion. Oikawa’s gone out with him wearing t-shirts and stuff just like this- and it’s not like they’re going anywhere special. Probably just round the corner, to buy milk bread. “At least it’s not my underwear again.”

Oikawa shakes his head in mock disappointment. “Seriously, Iwa-chan, you can’t honestly believe you’re ever going to get a date if you want to go to the New Year’s Eve party like _that_. Admit it- you’d be lost without me.”

He doesn’t make a joke about the underwear comment- which is funny, because yesterday he would have jumped at the chance. That’s not the only weird thing about this, either. Hajime is still confused over the mention of a New Year’s Eve party. It’s _been_ Mattsun’s party already- that was yesterday, Hajime is sure of it. He wonders whether this is some elaborate trick that Oikawa is pulling, just to wind him up.

Yeah, Hajime tells himself. That’s probably all it is.

He raises his eyebrows as Oikawa ducks under his arm to walk into the house, stopping him in his tracks with a hand on his arm. “Hey, Trashykawa.” Hajime smirks- he bets that Oikawa was planning on really freaking him out with all this weird _deja vu_. “Is Makki in on this joke as well?” he drawls, his grip tightening.  “Because anyone with half a brain could see right through it.”

Oikawa laughs lightly. “My, well, I must have only half a brain then, Iwa-chan- because I don’t know what on earth you could be talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb, Shittykawa- it’s so obvious-”

Oikawa twists around to face him, his expression too serious for any simple prank. “I’m not ‘playing dumb’, Iwa-chan. And, really, the only thing that’s obvious right now is your bad attitude.” He winks, pulling out of Hajime’s grip and waltzing into the kitchen.

“Hurry up and get ready properly, Iwa-chan!” he calls over his shoulder. “Unless, of course, you plan on going to the party like that.”

Hajime’s about to make a suitably scathing comment in return, but it’s already too late. Oikawa is greeting his parents; he’s about to embark on the story of the one time that Hajime got really, really drunk and made out with a volleyball.

From the other room, his parents’ laughter sounds almost like the dull, throbbing hum of a curse.

\--

They’re walking the same route to Mattsun’s party as they did yesterday. Except, apparently, yesterday never happened, and they haven’t been to the party yet, and Oikawa didn’t win the bet, and Hajime never blacked out during the countdown.

It doesn’t make yesterday seem any less real, though.

“Maybe it was all a bad dream,” suggests Oikawa, the wind blowing his hair around his head like some kind of inverted halo. “Although, really, I don’t see it can have been a particularly bad dream if it had _me_ in it, Iwa-chan, but-”

“It doesn’t…” Hajime shakes his head. “I don’t know, Tooru. It just doesn’t feel like it was a dream. It felt _real_.”

 _Tooru_. Hajime never calls Oikawa ‘Tooru’ unless he’s really serious about something- unless he wants the other boy to feel the full gravity and meaning behind his words. Oikawa nods solemnly, his hand stroking his chin. It’s a gesture that should look ridiculous, but somehow Oikawa can pull it off.

Suddenly, he stops- still, completely still, in the middle of the street. “I have it!” He places his hands on each of Hajime’s shoulders, his eyes blazing with such intensity that Hajime can’t help but be impressed. They’re so close, he finds himself noticing, feeling the heat from Oikawa’s palms like it’s searing his skin. So close.

“It must have been the aliens, Iwa-chan. There’s no other possible explanation for it.”

Hajime sighs. For a second, he’d actually wondered if Oikawa was about to talk sensibly. “For the last time, Shittykawa,” he mutters, “the aliens aren’t real.”

“But they-”

“Ugh.” Hajime throws his hands up in the air, palms towards the sky like he’s trying to catch all the world’s worst wishes. “Let’s just say it was a bad dream, okay? So you’ll shut up about the aliens.”

Oikawa pouts. He never just lets things go that easily, after all- Hajime should have learnt this by now. “How can you know that aliens aren’t real, Iwa-chan? I mean, some people might say that your sense of romance isn’t real, but it’s probably there. Deep down. _Really_ deep down.”

Hajime’s had enough. Of this weird déjà vu, of this pointless conversation- and most of all, he’s had enough of the aliens. He glares at Oikawa, gritting his teeth. “At least my sense of romance is acknowledged by more people than aliens are. Wait, wait, let me correct that. At least my sense of romance is acknowledged by more people over the age of _6 years old._ ”

Oikawa is unfazed. “Actually, Iwa-chan, I think you’ll find that the Japanese National Alien Watching Association has-”

Hajime hits him over the head. Probably harder than he means to.

“Ow, Iwa-chan, you’re so cruel!”

“Life goes on, Crappykawa.”

Except, for Hajime, it doesn’t seem to.

\--

The party is just the same as it was yesterday. The lights are dimmed as if the sun has already sunk behind the sky, and someone’s turned the music up full volume.

It’s not until they’re sitting round the same table they sat at last night, Makki and Mattsun cracking pointless jokes that generally relate to either memes or sex, that Hajime remembers the note he found on his pillow. _Both_ mornings. Oikawa is halfway through proposing they have a ‘competition of love’, when Hajime pictures the message.

_Find your true love._

Maybe that’s the reason why today he agrees to the contest so readily. That, or maybe it’s just the familiar curve to Oikawa’s lips that Hajime’s never had the will to say no to.

Either way.

Today, Hajime decides to, you know, actually _try_ at Oikawa’s competition. Beating thirty guys at arm wrestling won’t give him the pure satisfaction of seeing Oikawa moaning in defeat, after all. He turns Makki when he’s challenged – for the first time in ages. Makki’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but he doesn’t say anything. Maybe he didn’t think that Hajime was actually serious about Oikawa’s competition, but that’s where he’s wrong.

Hajime wants to do his best to win.

He looks around the room for a girl who might actually, you know, consider him someone worthy of being in love with. Hajime’s not conventionally attractive like Oikawa is, so he guesses that he’s just going to have to rely upon his sweet, charming nature.

Unfortunately, Hajime isn’t very sweet or charming.

There’s a girl standing alone in the corner of the room- she’s small, with a petite frame that looks like it might break in half in anyone gets to close. Hajime approaches her if only to give her some company. She looks too tiny for this party, like it’s threatening to swallow her whole.

Her hair is a very pretty shade of blonde, but Hajime – for some reason – has always liked the look of golden-brown.

When he goes to stand beside her – _actcasual,Hajime,forgod’ssakeactnatural_ – she shifts her body away from him, turning her face away. Hajime’s wondering whether to be offended, actually- it’s not like he’s _that_ bad looking, and he’s pretty sure his breath doesn’t smell. He flashes the girl a small smile, and she grins back, shyly.

_Good. That’s a good start, Hajime. See, talking to girls isn’t so bad, after all._

_Not that you’ve actually talked to her yet, but whatever._

“Hi,” he says, and immediately cringes at how ridiculous his voice sounds. “I’m Iwaizumi.”

“I- My name is Yachi,” she answers, after a prolonged pause. Her words are hurried, jumbled- toppling out on top of each other like she can’t bear to keep them inside for too long.

“This your first party?”

Yachi nods, then, in her tiny-mouse-voice, “Can you tell?”

Hajime laughs. “Don’t worry about it, you’re doing fine.” Looking at the girl, she kind of reminds Hajime of a younger sister that he needs to protect. He realises just how ridiculous it is to be trying to make her fall in love with him, when he can’t even conjure up feelings anything other than brotherly towards her. 

They’re interrupted by an older girl, her sleek, shiny black hair framing delicate glasses. Hajime recognises her from somewhere, but can’t quite place it. She takes a shielding step towards Yachi, squinting at Hajime suspiciously. She turns to Yachi. “This guy isn’t bothering you, right?”

Yachi shakes her head, hair flying. “N-No, not at all.”

“Good.” The girl faces Hajime and waits, obviously expecting him to say something.

Hajime fumbles, forcing his jaw to work, his lips to force out sounds. “I- um- I-” He licks his lips nervously- why can’t he do this? Oikawa’s so natural when it comes to approaching people and Hajime seems like a llama with a severe case of asthma in comparison. “You have… Nice…” _Compliment something, damn it, compliment something!_ “You have really nice, um… whites in your eye. I mean, um, the white of your eye is incredibly white. I mean-”

“Um,” says the older girl, “thank you?” She doesn’t look very grateful.

Hajime fumbles. “No, no, that’s not what I mean- I meant that, er, the… You have really healthy looking gums, actually. Your dentist must be very proud. You, erm…”

This is _so_ not going to plan. Why hadn’t he just stuck with arm wrestling?

The girls both look appropriately weirded out. Yachi’s face crumples a little, her eyes growing larger in concern. “Um… Are you drunk?”

Hajime shakes his head. “No! I just…” _So much for the sweet art of seduction_ , thinks Hajime. _Guess it looks as if I’m going to wind up begging._ He bows his head forwards, pleading silently with the two girls in front of him. “I need you both to say that you’re in love with me!”

Yachi looks as if she’s going to faint. The older girl frowns. “Why on earth would we ever do that for you?”

“Because…” Hajime mutters, because, because. And then: oh, fuck it. Hajime figures that he may as well tell the truth, now he’s messed up this badly. “I’ve made a bet. With my friend. The person who gets the most love confessions by the end of the night wins.” He grits his teeth, tipping his head back just slightly. “I want that to be me.”

The older girl rolls her eyes, tossing her dark hair. “I love you. _There._ ” She looks like she’s fighting off a blush, her hands curling themselves up into fists. Yachi doesn’t say anything, just stands there in shock.

“Thanks,” says Hajime, slowly. “I owe you.”

“Well,” says the girl, “I know what it’s like to want to win so badly.” She smiles slightly, then adds, as if she feels obliged to explain- “I’m the Karasuno volleyball team’s manager. My name’s Kiyoko.” She laughs, like the sun is shaking in the sky. “Good luck. You’ll… You’ll need it.”

  _Volleyball._ So, that’s where Hajime’s seen her before. He smiles back, but Kiyoko and Yachi are already walking away.

\--

Oikawa wins the bet, in the end. Hajime can’t persuade anyone but Kiyoko to tell them they love him for the rest of the night- mostly, they just look at him as if he’s crazy and walk away. One girl actually threw a Frisbee at his head, which Makki found hilarious- especially when Hajime failed to catch it. On the other hand, Oikawa’s only been counting loosely, but apparently he’s already successfully wooed twenty girls.

Hajime wouldn’t put it past him.

As the New Year’s countdown begins, Oikawa’s surrounded by the same gaggle of girls he was yesterday. Hajime is still confused about that – all this weird déjà vu – but he’s writing it off as some strangely realistic, scarily accurate nightmare. At least after the countdown he’s never going to have to think about this again- he woke up just as the countdown ended, after all, so nothing afterwards can possibly be a repeat.

Hajime watches Oikawa with his hands locked round some girl’s waist. She’s fiddling with his hair like she can’t keep still. The countdown’s already on 5, and Hajime checks his wallet. Oikawa’s going to want milk bread, and he better not ask for more than Hajime can pay for.

Maybe he’ll be able to haggle it down, somehow.

2, 1.

The clock strikes midnight- the New Year’s countdown is over.

Hajime’s about to push his way across the floor towards Oikawa, when he feels his chest constricting. His vision spots and blurs in front of him, a misty veil of black dropping down over the party. _Fuck_ , he finds himself thinking. _Not again._

This isn’t normal. This isn’t normal.

He’s writhing on the floor, the pain in his head overwhelming.

That’s when Hajime opens his eyes, and suddenly he’s no longer at the party.

Nope. He realises, with a dawning sense of despair, that buying Oikawa milk bread is _nothing_ on this problem.

The afternoon sun is drifting through Hajime’s bedroom curtains, staining his room the same colour orange that flecks Oikawa Tooru’s eyes. And there’s something – something – at the back of Hajime’s mind that’s telling him today is somehow New Year’s Eve.

Again.

For the third time in a row.

He rolls over onto his side and almost gets a paper cut from the note resting on his pillow. Hajime doesn’t even have to look at it to know what it says.

_Find your true love._

Hajime groans, and tosses it into his waste-paper basket with his eyes closed.

This time round, it lands perfectly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the support for the first chapter!! I hope everyone enjoys this one just as much :))


	3. Chapter 3

Hajime’s got to get to the bottom of this, and he’s going to start by finding out more about that ridiculous note. That’s where all this started, after all. He woke up in the morning with that note on his pillow- and then he time looped or whatever this is, and there the note was again. And today. Again.

Like a stalker, but made out of paper.

Of course, there is always the possibility that the note and the time loop aren’t connected at all. Hajime’s parents could have just so happened to take this next step in finding their only son love on the exact same day Hajime first began time looping.

But somehow, Hajime feels like the note and the weird-time-space-dimension-defying thing that his world is doing right now… somehow, they’re connected.

He hadn’t got a chance to ask his parents about the note yesterday, or the day before- but then again, by the looks of things, today _is_ yesterday.

Hajime’s trying not to think about how that’s even possible.

If he thinks too hard about it, he’s afraid he won’t know how to stop.

So instead, he asks “Mum?” and trudges down the stairs. He finds her in her study, her long, dark hair pulled out of her eyes and stuffed under what looks to be a hat-shaped dead chicken. Or maybe it’s just a dead chicken shaped hat.

“Mmmhmm?” she answers absentmindedly, staring fixatedly at her computer screen. She’s working during the New Year, which probably isn’t good for her. Hajime’s family have always worked hard. “Shouldn’t you be…” His mum trails off, losing her words beneath all the thousands of numbers that go with being an accountant. “Um… Shouldn’t you be getting ready, Hajime? Oikawa will be here soon.”

Oikawa can wait. He monopolises enough of Hajime’s waking hours as it is.

Hajime waves off his mum’s question with a short grunt, shrugging his shoulders. “Actually, Mum, I wanted to ask about the weird note that you or Dad left on my pillow this morning.” He scowls. “Can you stop? It’s really annoying. I almost got a paper cut in my eye when I rolled over, and that’s gotta be painful.”

“Hmmm?” says his mum, and Hajime realises in irritation that she hasn’t heard a word he’s just said.

Impatiently, he taps his hand against the wooden desk, and waits. Still no reaction. “ _Mum_!”

“Sorry, Hajime. Did you need anything?”

“Actually, there’s something that I _don’t_ need.” He pauses. “You know. The note you left on my pillow. ‘Find your true love’.”

“Um…” His mum looks at him in confusion, her brow creasing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sorry.”

“Come on, just tell me!” says Hajime in frustration. It’s not like he’s even being cryptic or anything. He’s getting to the point where he’s almost desperate for the note to have been given to him by his parents- that would be a logical, explainable situation. If the note isn’t from his mum and dad – if it _isn’t_ – Hajime hasn’t got a clue of the first place to start searching for answers. He sighs, ruffling his hair in frustration. “It’s- look, Mum, I get this sounds kind of _really_ stupid, but this note is basically the root of all my problems and-”

“’Find your true love’, huh?” asks his mum lazily. “Maybe it’s a confession.”

And, you know, Hajime really, really loves his parents. Cherishes them, in fact- he’s a good son, and they’re good parents, and generally they get through things just fine. But the way his mother speaks to him right now – like she couldn’t care less - like this note is something as mundane as a _confession_ , rather than the literal Satan spawn that’s probably trapped Hajime in some sort of time loop that it is-

Hajime cuts off angry in-his-head ranting when he realises what his mother’s just said. “A confession?”

Because that’s utterly crazy. Only two people have ever confessed to Hajime in his life- and one of them, he set on fire. (It was an accident during a science experiment. An _accident_. And Hajime had grabbed a fire extinguisher and put her out straight away, anyway. Oikawa had just laughed at him.)

“Mmm,” says Hajime’s mum, way too casually for this kind of conversation. She gives a little isn’t-this-absurd kind of laugh. “Maybe it’s from Oikawa. I always thought he maybe had a thing for you.”

“ _What_?” Hajime isn’t sure what happens to his voice, but right now it squawks up at least three octaves, like he’s a thirteen year old kid just beginning puberty. “That’s- yeah, right. Oikawa wouldn’t… He doesn’t…”

“Probably not,” shrugs Hajime’s mother. She doesn’t seem particularly bothered either way, even though that kind of statement – _I always thought Oikawa had a thing for you_ – is ground breaking and fresh and new and something that Hajime’s never even thought about before.

Something that Hajime’s never _let_ himself think about before.

He clears his throat. “What was it that made you… ah… think that? About Oikawa, I mean. Why’d you think he likes me?” Hajime tries to ask this casually, but something tells him that an elephant undercover as Benedict Cumberbatch would probably be more subtle.

His mum taps her pen against her nose, eyes smiling. “He plays up to you, like you’re a married couple. Like me and your dad, you know? And, really, Hajime- it’s frankly ridiculous how many times he comments on your biceps- and-”

Hajime coughs sharply. He can feel his golden skin darkening, heat rising and warming his cheeks. He shakes his head gruffly, waving his mother’s comments aside. “Oikawa’s like that with everyone.”

For once, Hajime’s mum breaks eye-contact with the computer screen, turning round to look at her son. “No. I think there’s something different in the way he watches you, when you’re not looking. Oikawa sometimes looks as if – as if, I don’t know. As if he’d let you destroy the world, as long as he were standing at your side.”

Hajime fakes another cough, and tries to come up with a suitable answer.

“I… Um… So… You think the note could be a confession, then?” Hajime doesn’t mention who the confession might be from. He doesn’t mention how who-it-might-be-from makes him feel.

His mother shakes her head, suddenly deadpan serious. “Only joking. The note’s from me and your Dad. You’ll get another every day, until you come home with a girlfriend.”

Hajime frowns. _Oh_. Of course. “I don’t need a girlfriend, Mum-”

He breaks off in disbelief as his mother rocks forwards in her swivel chair, body shaking in laughter. Hajime raises an eyebrow. “...Mum?”

“God, Hajime, you should have seen your face!” His mum winks, and Hajime wishes he could un-see it because winking is not a task parents should ever undergo. “I’m just – what was the word? – _trolling_ you.” She waves her hand dismissively. “Honestly, I’ve no idea who the note is from. Maybe someone gave it to your dad to give to you as a confession, after all? But, seriously, I don’t know anything about it.” She pauses, tilting her head to one side. “It’s funny that it’d be on your pillow, though. It’s not like anyone’s been through the house.”

Now that he’s heard his mum use the term ‘trolling’, Hajime almost prefers the winking. He shakes his head in disbelief. “Where did you even find that word?”

“What?”

“ _Trolling_?”

“It was in an article in the paper this morning. ‘What your teen really means when they’re talking in slang’.” She pauses. “The subtitle was ‘What your teen really _memes_ ’. Which I originally thought was just a spelling mistake, but apparently it was trying to be funny.”

Hajime wonders why adults even care enough to labour and find out the various definitions of internet slang, when it all changes in about six months anyway. “Just… please, never use the word ‘trolling’ again.”

“Did it surprise you? Don’t be so _salty_.”

“Stop.”

“Hajime, don’t use that tone with me,” says his mum, but she’s only joking. “LOL!”

He groans. This is beyond embarrassing, and Hajime’s _so_ glad Makki and Mattsun aren’t here to witness this. “You’re not cool, Mum.”

“Actually, I think I’m like-a-boss.”

Hajime feels like face palming, but that would probably be about as cringey as his mum’s use of internet slang. “You’re not-”

“You know what I am, though? ROFL!” says his mum. And she literally says ‘ROFL’ as one word, all the letters smashed together into one cheesy barrage of sound. Hajime can’t hide his second-hand embarrassment, and he has a feeling that his face probably looks like someone sat on it. 

His mum laughs again, and Hajime can’t help but laugh with her. “Go on,” she tells him at last, turning back to her accounting. “You need to go and get ready, seriously. Like I said, Oikawa’ll be here in a minute.”

Hajime nods and turns to head upstairs – he is _not_ opening the door in just his underwear EVER AGAIN – but before he leaves the study, he asks his mum one last time. “So, you really don’t know anything about the note?”

For a second, he thinks his mum hasn’t heard him, and Hajime starts to drag his feet back up the stairs in resign. Then, her voice drifts up the stairs towards him – “Nope, Hajime, not a thing. Ask your dad when he gets home.”

The thing is, Hajime’s going to be out at a party by the time his dad gets back- and as far as Hajime knows, they’re not going to have a chance to talk afterwards because there’s an 80% chance that there won’t _be_ an afterwards.

Hajime thinks about this as he slips into one of the numerous clean-ish t-shirts scattered across his floor as puddles of fabric colour. He also thinks about what his mum said about Oikawa.

_I always thought he had a thing for you._

As the doorbell rings to the familiar rhythm of the Seijoh team chant, Hajime shakes the feeling off. Oikawa would have said something if he liked him, right?

Right.

-

“Hey,” says Oikawa, digging his elbow into Hajime’s ribs _way_ too hard. “Why aren’t you getting cross at any of my jokes?”

 They’re walking the same route to the same New Year’s Eve party, for the third time in a row. Hajime kicks at the pavement, hoping he’ll fall through the ground into some other parallel universe where time doesn’t loop. “Wouldn’t you rather I laugh at your jokes?”

“Maybe if you were someone else,” whines Oikawa. “But you’re not even laughing _properly_. When you really like my jokes, you get cross and embarrassed and always try and hide it.”

Hajime blinks. _Does he?_ “No, I don’t.”

“Do too, Iwa-chan.”

“Do not, Shittykawa.”

“Do too. You’re clearly stressing about something, Iwa-chan. Otherwise you’d already be ending this argument by attacking me, like the brutal slob you ar-” Oikawa breaks off as Iwaizumi smacks him over the shoulders with a wry smile. Oikawa grins. “That’s more like it.”

They walk in silence a couple of steps, and Hajime realises that Oikawa’s waiting for him to tell him what the matter is. He scratches at the nape of his neck awkwardly, trying to think of a way to phrase his problem.

_Just so you know, Oikawa, I’m trapped in a time loop. I think it’s got something to do with finding my true love- and so far, the aliens are about as likely to be behind this as anything else I can think of._

That’s what Oikawa had suggested yesterday: aliens. But that was when Hajime had only been half serious about any of this, still passing the whole thing off as a weird, de ja vu kind of dream. Oikawa suggested aliens because he wasn’t being serious; because he could tell Hajime wasn’t so serious as he made out to be.

But Oikawa can see straight through Hajime, like his whole body’s made from glass.

When Hajime means something, Oikawa knows. They’ve known each other forever, and Hajime knows by now that Oikawa always, always knows. So if Hajime tells him with 100% conviction what he _thinks_ is happening…

No.

Hajime isn’t going to tell Oikawa anything. Confessing to being stuck in a time loop is pretty much the equivalent of begging to be put in an asylum.

“I’m… Um…” Hajime stutters, lost for words. “I’m…” And then, words fall from his lips in one long rush. “Let’s not go to the New Year’s party tonight. Let’s do something else.”

This isn’t exactly what Hajime planned on saying, but it’s better than nothing. If anything, he’s sick to death of Mattsun’s party, and he could really do with a change.

Oikawa pouts. “Is that what you’re upset about? It’ll be fine, honestly. You have my Captain’s word that I won’t let you get as drunk as you did last time when you-”

Hajime cuts him off, shaking his head. “It’s just- New Year’s parties just get a bit repetitive, you know? We should do something better.”

“But Iwa-chan, _you’re_ not the one who did his hair especially for the party.”

“I didn’t notice anything different about it,” Hajime deadpans. He inspects Oikawa’s hair now, looking for change. It’s… Maybe slightly more tousled? A little fluffier, perhaps?

Oikawa sticks out his tongue. Like a child. Like a whiny, bratty child with absurdly perfect hair. “You wouldn’t know different if it kissed you.” He wrinkled his brow. “Not that anything would want to, ‘different’ or otherwise.”

Hajime is about to snap out some trite retort – probably along the lines of ‘Shut up, Trashykawa’ – but before he can manage it, Oikawa practically jumps into his arms with an excited hiss. Hajime frowns, pushing him off. He doesn’t think about how close they are, or the electric rush of heat that surges under his skin when their hands touch. He doesn’t let himself smile at the mango-and-banana sweet smell of Oikawa’s shampoo, or-

In fact, all Hajime does is shove Oikawa away from him. That’s all. That’s it.

“What the hell, Shittykawa?!”

Oikawa seems as if he’s trying to be covert. He arches his eyebrows coyly, nudging Hajime. “Don’t look now, but Ushiwaka-chan’s following us.”

Hajime remembers the first time they’d gone to the New Year’s Eve party, and recollects Ushijima hiding behind a dustbin. “He’s probably trying to crash the party.”

“Poor guy,” laments Oikawa, pulling a face. “Not everyone can get invited to parties left right and centre like we can.”

Hajime snorts. “This is the first proper party you’ve been to all year.”

“How do you know?” asks Oikawa, smirking. “You don’t know me, Iwa-chan.”

“I haven’t put up with you since we were six to be told I don’t know you, you idiot.”

Oikawa laughs- and Hajime swears, it’s like the sound perfection makes when it floats along the wind. “Fine, fine- you know me, Iwa-chan,” he concedes. “I’m not sure I want to be seen in the company of Ushiwaka-chan when I don’t have to be, though. Why’s he insisting on hiding behind dustbins?” Oikawa winks and although Hajime hates winking when it’s done by his mother, when Oikawa does it, it. Is. Heaven. “He’s only confirming that he’s trash.”

Hajime has to laugh. “You sound like Makki.”

“Really?” Oikawa pretends to throw up. “Excuse me, Iwa-chan. I need to go scrub my mouth out with soap.”

“But seriously,” says Hajime. “You know what Ushiwaka-” He coughs: Hajime refuses to call him Ushiwaka-chan. “ _Ushijima_ stalking us has given us an opportunity to do?”

“Call the police on him to get him disqualified from the volleyball spring tournament?”

“No,” says Hajime. “Better.” He stops in his tracks and looks at Oikawa. Hajime’s eyes are dark like the void. Oikawa’s are hazel-brown, flecked with the orange that the sun stains the world in the morning. Right now, they’re gleaming in anticipation.

“He’s stalking us to get to the party, right? So, we _shouldn’t_ go to the party.”

Oikawa’s eyes dull within seconds, and he sticks out his bottom lip in mocking sulk. “I already told you though, Iwa-chan, I’ve done my hair especially for New Year’s Eve.”

“It’ll still be New Year’s Eve whether you go to the party or not.”

“But Iwa- _chan_ , Ushiwaka-chan will still follow us! If he’s following us in order to crash the party, he’ll think that wherever we head is the way to the party!”

“That’s even better,” says Hajime, and his face is beginning to brim with an infectious excitement. There’s a benefit he’s realising about time-loops, and it’s that you can do anything you want without consequences for longer than 24 hours. “We could lead him anywhere, and he’ll have to follow if he wants to get to the party.” He pauses, for emphasis. “ _Anywhere._ ”

Oikawa nods in realisation, and he swipes a lock of hair from his eyes about as enthusiastically as someone can push hair from their face in the first place. “My, my, Iwa-chan. Someone’s becoming a naughty boy!~”

Hajime isn’t entirely sure how Oikawa can say stuff like this with a straight face. If it was him, he’d probably on the floor cradling his head in embarrassment. But then again, Hajime’s always liked Oikawa’s casual confidence.

“Don’t be an ass, Crappykawa.” He grins. “So, where should we lead Ushijima first?”

Hajime has the feeling that this is going to be 1000 times more interesting than the third identical party in a row.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd call this chapter more of a filler than anything, but hopefully you liked it in some form or another! I really appreciate everyone's lovely comments so far. Look out for truth or dare with Iwaoi and Ushiwaka next chapter :))


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